


Schädlingsbekämpfung

by Tribs



Series: For All The Skein 'Twixt [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol, Body Horror (Standard Anders), Drunken Shenanigans, Gen, Large Quantity of Eyes, Possum Dragons, Post-Clubbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 07:43:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17137775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tribs/pseuds/Tribs
Summary: he [Anders] would go to gay strip clubs for the art of itjannes just"Are you sure this is where we're meeting""Why would it not be?""Just I mean I'm outside and-""Yes good I've got our table reserved"[distress.wav]am fear liath mòr is just anders wandering around the mountains hungover and shirtlessalice drops him off there after he's five bottles in and lets him find his own way home





	1. Marian

The coffee pooled along the bottom of my mug as I tilted it, sending strands of milk cascading into odd patterns. I’d finished my plate first - something between the scar on his neck and the way he always took a bit longer to eat told me Remus had difficulty swallowing - so I’d relaxed into the stillness with him. Quiet, except for the occasional clink across the table.

A caught his hands moving out of the corner of my eye, and looked up.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that?”

His hands fluttered then went still, and after a sheepish look he dabbed a napkin at his face. His voice cracked as he opened his mouth to speak, and I started at the sound.

It wasn’t that Rem’s voice was _unnatural,_ by any stretch of it, but there was always a stark difference between now and the times where talking escaped him entirely.

“Claudia job?”

“Oh.”  I shook off the surprise quick as it came.  “Yeah! The usual, says something’s gone and broke, wants you to look it over in person.”

“Hm?”

“Eh, wouldn’t describe specifics. Y’know how she is. Just blames the weather, vague-like.”

He worked his upper lip in thought, and I caught his shoulder shift.

_… Bet that's getting messed up, too._

“Been a rough one, other two jobs’ve got the same blame going on. People not keeping the gears warm enough to account for winter creeping in.”  I paused, swirled my mug again, and tried to phrase a question that had been brewing. “Why’d you set up here, anyway? Must’ve known about the weather when you started shop.”

He shrugged past a cup of coffee, then took a moment to finish the last of his syrup-drenched pancakes. Something flickered in his eyes, but he tried to hide it with a wink.

“Aesthetic.”

I let out an exasperated noise. _“Rem._ Can’t regulate your body temperature for shit. Got those gangly legs snapped out around the middle, and arm’s over there getting frosted up like there’s icicles stabbed into your shoulder. - _Aesthetic_ he says.”

“Aesthetic,”  he repeated into his mug, eyes shining mischievously.

_“Rem.”_

His tongue blipped out as he set the mug down, winking.  “Why did you?”

The answer was rehearsed, almost automatic  - “Not a lot of drama when there’s only fifty people. Nice and quiet,”  - and all I could do was cringe inside and hope it didn’t sound that way.

He nodded thoughtfully, chair scraping as he stood and started to collect the plates.  “It is.”

I exhaled.  “Mhm.”

“The others are still just what’s in the shop, yes?”

_Taptap._

“What?”

“Other two jobs?”

“Oh - yep. Should’ve gotten that orchestral piece in by now, but got a call earlier; the truck’s stuck at a town closer to the base. Winding mechanism got slack, and no way it’ll handle the inclines right now.”

_Taptaptap._

“Should we go instead?”

I squinted suspiciously.  “... Maybe. They said they’d call if they couldn’t get it working. I gave them the phone to here.”

“Good!”

 _No._  “You just want to go careening down the mountain.”

_Taptap._

He dropped the dishrag back into the sink and shrugged innocently, making vague sounds that - alongside his red ears - told me that that was exactly what he wanted to do. Very badly.

“Mhm.”

“For them!”

“Mmmhm.”

He pivoted and leaned against the counter, giving his best pleading expression.

“Y’know those don’t work on me, Rem.”

“...”

“Rem.”

“...”

_“Rem.”_

“...”

“... Fine. You can drive us back _up._ If - _if_ \- they call, Rem.”

His face split into a grin and he clapped his hands together, rubbing them delightedly.   _“Ja!”_

“Carefully. _Slowly. Listen to me Rem.”_

He twirled his fingers, impish and dismissive; I’d given him his lead, and he was going to run it out until the suspension broke.

I ran a hand across my face.

It worked to half-cover my smile.

_Tap._

_Taptap._

A loud _crash_ shook from the door that connected the kitchen to the garage, and for a second I could almost see his heart jump to his throat.

He looked over to me, shaken, and for a moment I wondered if the panic was going to paralyze him. He managed to shake it off, more physically than metaphorically, then wrenched the door open.

The fingers of his prosthetic locked hard into a fist.

I grabbed the metal pan from the stove and sprinted after him.


	2. Marian

The old man’s head lolled against the passenger’s seat, slack-jawed and humming some old song while the wind mussed his hair.

His hands always got twitchy when he was drunk. Like he couldn’t quite figure out what to do with them, but was trying to make the best of it.

His glamour wasn’t faring much better.

I kept catching him slipping out of the corner of my eye, the grey specks in his hair fluctuating the same as his wrinkles and blistering scar. Over the course of the ride I’d seen him go everywhere between a young man, probably around his mid-twenties, to an old, rotten, decrepit husk. Like he was back to having half a foot in the grave.

The latter extreme wasn’t one he used often, and I admit that I nearly did swerve us off the trail over it. He’d dropped his wine bottle around that point, and I still didn’t feel up to telling him about the stain it was leaving on the floor of his car.

_Not yet, anyways._

_When he’s sober._

_Let him appreciate it._

I caught an eye squinting at me from his neck, hazy and delirious. He managed to hem it and several others back under the skin, but the feeling of being watched lingered.

“You alright there?”

His head rolled over, face screwing up like he was struggling to process what I’d said, before nodding.

I raised an eyebrow at him.  “Need to tell Jannes to start cutting you off. I know he’s one of the only people that can bribe your ass into doing anything.”

Something incomprehensible slurred under his breath, made worse by his complete lapse into his natural, crisp, throaty accent, but I already knew it was some kind of denial.

Maybe _“Why, no, he absolutely is not, and let me further expand on why he would be incapable for a good thirty minutes.”_

“He will, or I’m just going to keep doing this until you knock it off yourself. It’s for your own good.”

Anders blinked and struggled to shake his head, then grimaced as the side of his jaw started to split open. He worked it like a dog eating a glob of peanut butter, trying to gum the rift of skin and eyes back together.

_Ew._

“Today’s just a big struggle-fest, isn’t it?”

He spat out a hiss, and a few teeth that had started to ooze out snapped back into place.

“Mhm. Don’t spill that.”

I slowed the car to a stop as we reached the mountain’s plateau-top, but the way he careened forward then back made it seem more like I’d slammed on the breaks.

Maybe I did.

Just a little.

“C’mon - out you go.”

He grumbled, sulking heavily against the door.

I nodded along with the sentiment, let myself out, paced around to the other side, and rested an elbow next to his head.

“So, when’s the last time you cleaned that?”

His face twitched.

I yanked on the handle and hopped to the side as he came tumbling out in a heap of panic-cracked eye fissures and long limbs, then shut the door again and watched him try to writhe back together.

“You’ve got a hoof coming out there,”  I offered helpfully. “And your arm’s on backwards.”

He twisted the shoulder joint a bit to the left, thought about it for a moment, then gave up and let the limb collapse.

_Going to be rough later, when this stint on the ground hits you._

“Might want to fix all that up before any hikers come by.”

I circled back to the other side as he tried to remember how his limbs were supposed to function. One hand stretched up and grabbed for the top of the door, and I promptly smacked at his knuckles until he let go.

He shot me a crude finger before sinking back down.

“Right back at you.”

I rewound the key as he complained, drowning him out with the sputtering of the turning engine.

“Better start walking!”


	3. Marian

It was a full infestation.

Winged lizards skittered out across the floor, between the scattered scrap metal and into whatever little crevices they could fit their squiggly bodies.

Remus had relaxed into a situational familiarity at the sight of them, and made a kind of declaration - something that sounded like _“Schädlingsbekämpfung!”_ \- before marching off to shoo a few away from his bike. He wasn’t having much luck, instead just awkwardly hobble-hopping around after two that had incorporated him to their randy, frenzied chase.

I set down the pan and plucked one up from where it’d gotten wedged in between the wall and a workbenches. I managed to wrangle it into the makeshift bag I’d made out of my coat, where it hissed at me angrily.

I gave it a brisk shake.

“Oh, hush, you. _\- Rem!”_

_“He!”_

_“I thought these were cold-blooded?”_

He managed to snatch up one of the two he was after, cupping it in a way I knew meant he was focusing on controlling the gross motor functions in his fingers. It spat at him, and clamped a tiny mouth down on his thumb. The second perched on the bike’s seat, trilling with indignation at having been cockblocked.

He eyed it, unimpressed, before calling back.

“Yes!”

“Why are they all the way out here? Thought they were a warm-climate thing!”

“We get - ah - burrowers- _Scheisse!”_

He dropped the first one in surprise - or, more accurately, spiked it into the wall hard enough to stun it - as its partner sprung against his chest, latching onto his waistcoat with tiny claws before skittering off under his coat.

I darted towards him, scooping up the one from the floor while he struggled to wring his free of his sleeve. With a mixture of flailing and brushing at his arm he managed to expel it, only for it to lunge at his shoe.

He used his hands to lift his leg up, dragon in tow, and I plucked it off.

“... Burrowers, y’say?”

“Y- Yes. They like the spring bugs.”

“Half a season too early for that, aren’t they?”

He worked his lip again, turning to take in the rest of the garage, sending the gallery that had been out to watch us scattering back for their crevices.

“They are not very _good_ at burrowing.”

“Seems in line with the ones out in the lower country there; rocks for brains.”

He snorted and nodded, starting back for the kitchen, beckoning for me to follow.

“What’re we getting?”

“Brandy!”

“What?”

“Or they’ll start getting into the walls.”

_“What?”_


	4. Alice

The candlestick phone was ringing as I got home.

I sprinted over to his desk to snatch up the call, tossing my bag aside and fumbling with the polish-slick mouthpiece.

“‘Lo?”

The voice on the other end was shaky, little more than a squeak, almost entirely drowned out by the thunderously loud club music pounding out a beat through the static.

“You’ll have to speak up, Jannes.”

“I- Is Savant there?”

“Nah.”  He started to stammer another question, but I went ahead and answered it before he could finish.  “He’s fine. He’ll be home in-”

I glanced out the window, looping the wire around a finger.

“- About a day or so. I’ll have him call you back.”

“I’ve got… I’ve got his shirt?”

_ Oh. Was wondering where he’d lost it. _

“He’s got, like, fifty of that same one. He’ll live.”

“I just- I don’t- I don’t know when or  _ how _ I- Now I just woke up and-”

“Hey.”

He fell quiet, and I pressed my lips together to hold back a laugh at his bizarre hopelessness. I winked at the phone.

“You enjoy that one, Professor.”

_ “N… No, see-!” _

I hung up.


	5. Marian

We lingered in the doorway, biting back giggles as we watched them make quick work of the alcohol-soaked meat hunks.

A few of the lizards tried to keep it together; a couple managed to get a leg or two working, enough to scoot a little before they lost traction and slumped down again. Some had managed to climb back up to the odd perch, and were now draped around the garage like tossed rags. 

We snuck back in once they seemed incapacitated enough, and started scooping them into the pot we’d passed the first three into. A few hissed weakly, complaining as they were piled onto each other like a smelly pile of grey, green, and brown noodles. 

Remus lifted the last one in by its tail, then I clamped the lid shut.

“Where we going to put them?”

He didn’t answer right away, instead limping to one of the corners.

“Rem?”

“Mar.”

I shot him a questioning look. 

He picked up a shovel and turned, the mischievous look still hanging around his eyes as a finger went to his lips. I caught on, and grinned back.

“Deal with them in spring?”


End file.
